Game
by vengefulrose
Summary: Clary, a shy art student, was just looking for a quiet place to draw during a homecoming game at her university. Little did she know, the impromptu tennis match that she stumbled across would change her life forever, thanks in part to a very handsome player hoping to go pro soon. Parallels City of Bones. Clace. AU, all human. T for language and sexual themes in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Football Fever

_Edited as of 1/18/16._

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**Disclaimer: I don't own City of Bones or any of its related materials, as they all belong to Cassandra Clare.**

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A/N: Hi, everyone! In honor of my birthday, I've decided to post two new stories and a new chapter for my preexisting story! :)

This one is **completely AU and all human**, **so no Shadowhunters!** Instead, it's about **tennis players**. And as a note, I know that Jace's eyes are gold (not blue, which I'm making them for this story only), but he's no longer part angel and my vision of this story included Jace wearing white tennis gear and having blue eyes. I'm not really sure why. :D

It's going to be **written in the style of City of Bones**, **with much of the same format and parallel events**! It'll be lots of fun. I'm really proud of how it's turned out so far (it might even be the best thing I've written yet!), so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.

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**GAME**

_"Tennis: the most perfect combination of athleticism, artistry, power, style, and wit. A beautiful game, but one so remorselessly travestied by the passage of time."  
_– Martin Amis

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**Part I: Love**

_"Good shot, bad luck, and hell are the five basic words to be used in a game of tennis, though these, of course, can be slightly amplified."  
_– Virginia Graham

* * *

1  
FOOTBALL FEVER

"I'm sorry, but we don't have any cotton candy." The cashier at the concession stand choked out the words with a shaky voice and visibly gulped, Adam's apple bobbing in his skinny throat. By and large, he seemed to be the timid kind of young man who didn't interact well with people in general, especially an angry would-be customer holding up the line at a packed homecoming game.

"_What?"_ spat his aggressor, a tall and wiry boy wearing an electric blue ski cap. "This is a concession stand, isn't it?"

"Yes," admitted the unfortunate cashier.

"And concession stands are supposed to, I don't know, cater to the gastronomical desires of the people, are they not?"

"I-I would say that's an accurate estimation…"

Clary Fray, waiting in line about four customers deep, was strangely fascinated by the boy in the ski cap. It wasn't every day that you saw someone freaking out publically due to a lack of overpriced spun sugar, after all.

"Well then," the boy said menacingly, lowering his voice to the point that Clary had to strain to hear it. Everyone else around seemed to be doing the same: by now, all the people within a ten-foot radius were watching with vapid attention to see what would happen next. "I think that you should get me my damn cotton candy."

The cashier looked like he would rather be anywhere else. "We don't have any cotton candy, sir. Can I interest you in some pixie sticks?"

Simon, Clary's best friend, rolled his dark eyes and whispered to her, "Who invited Mr. Entitlement? I'm hungry and he's cutting into my popcorn-eating time."

Clary sent him a half-joking glare. "Hush, you."

At that exact moment, the boy in the ski cap fiercely brought his fist down on the counter, shouting, "_Fuck_ pixie sticks! I want cotton candy, damn it!"

"We don't _have_ any cotton candy!" the cashier repeated wearily. "If you really want some, a vendor will be making his rounds during the—"

The boy snarled back, "I don't have time for that shit. I'm here now, so you can put your nerdy ass to work and make me some cotton candy if you know what's good for you."

"I'm afraid that I can't do that, and you're holding up the line. So—"

Clary was curiously awaiting the angry boy's inevitable retort, but Simon just _had_ to choose that moment to say something. "Seriously," he remarked with a disapproving head shake. "Cotton candy isn't that big of a deal. Popcorn and nachos, on the other hand…"

"Simon," Clary groaned in exasperation. "You made me miss what he said."

Simon grinned innocuously. "I believe 'screamed' is the proper way to describe it. And besides, Clary, _you know it isn't polite to eavesdrop,_" he finished with a scholarly nod.

Clary was about to point out that it didn't constitute eavesdropping if the whole town could hear, but was distracted by another outburst from the weirdo in the blue ski cap.

"You know what?" he boomed, his voice now at a particularly thunderous level. "FUCK YOU!" He then turned to accost everyone around him, pointing wildly and bright green eyes flashing. "_FUCK YOU ALL!_ I don't even support the Wombats! They suck… _ASS!_"

The small crowd that had gathered around him _'ooh'_ed at his assessment. One guy in particular who stood directly behind him, clad in head-to-toe St. Xavier's University yellow and indigo, puffed up to his full height and said threateningly, "That's going too far, fuck-ass."

"Well, at least _I_ don't suck like the Wombats! Or _you!_" exclaimed the boy passionately. "You _all _suck! _All of you!"_

Clary rolled her eyes as he dramatically flounced off. Several people even clapped at the departure, including Simon.

But there had been something about the impassioned guy, something unique and mildly hilarious. Clary was tempted to include a character like him in the manga she was planning on writing, and filed the idea in her mind for future reference. If she ever had writer's block or needed comic relief, some loon raving about cotton candy would be funny to write and draw.

The line lurched forward, so she and Simon stepped closer to the counter to keep up with the plebeians. The cashier was already looking relieved, and his fellow workers who had been watching the spectacle unfold were now patting him on the back and congratulating him for his excellent handling of the situation.

"That guy was a severe basket case," Simon said to Clary as they waited in line.

She quirked a sly grin, knowing that she was about to get a reaction out of him. "It could have been worse. At least he's not a severe _closet_ case like you."

Simon playfully dug his elbow into her ribs as she shook with laughter. "I'll pretend that I didn't hear that, Fray."

"Love you too, Simon," Clary giggled, patting his back.

* * *

The football game was packed with college students, creating a seemingly endless sea of indigo and yellow. It was occasionally punctuated with the opposing team's brown and orange, but was, for the most part, filled with Wombats fans.

The boy with the blue ski cap pushed his way through the rabid young adults, growing increasingly disgusted as he went. First the concession stand didn't have any cotton candy, which was all he had wanted from life today, and now he had to fight his way through a bunch of privileged, brainless football fans with inflated senses of school pride.

School pride had its place, of course, and the average person would probably say that a homecoming game was a safe outlet for it, but he was far too infuriated with all the ingrates and that damned concession stand to be thinking rationally.

It wasn't that he had anything against St. Xavier's University at large—after all, he was planning to apply there and hopefully be a student in the following school year. Being raised in St. Xavier, Connecticut kind of did that to you. You were expected either to (a) move out as soon as you could and stay away forever, or (b) attend SXU or an Ivy League, get married, and produce the future generation to make up for any of the population that left. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to go down that life path, but his parents expected him to, so whatever. Maybe he could still get out later, like after college.

Today, though, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to go to SXU after all. They didn't even have cotton candy at the concession stand! How many other things would they be lacking in? And all these ingrates… did he really want them as _classmates _when they insulted him, even applauded when he stormed off?

All he had wanted was some cotton candy. The fluffy stuff had always been special to him, a delectable treat that had captivated his attention. During childhood, he ate so much of it so often that his parents had decided that he had a serious problem. They'd stuck him in counseling, and put down a lifelong ban on cotton candy. It made him too _excitable_, too _hyper_, too _sugar-high_, so they decided that, naturally, the only reasonable reaction would be to forbid him from ever having it again.

If it was meant to discourage him, it didn't work. In the ten or so years since his personal Prohibition began, his obsession had developed further. Now, cotton candy wasn't only delicious, but it also became the object of a nearly occult devotion.

Whenever he had gone to sporting events with his parents, it had been torturous. Seeing all those morons just shoving it down their oral cavities like it was common sugar… They didn't show it the proper adoration. He would savor it—if only he could have some!—but his parents were resilient. "_No cotton candy_," they'd say. "_We're not letting you have it ever again, and that's final."_

But today, he was finally old enough to go to a football game on his own, without the careful supervision of his usually hovering parents. It was the perfect plan, and he would finally get some cotton candy. But _no_. They didn't _have_ any. Damn them, and damn their mothers.

Eventually, he realized that, in his angered storming away from the concession stand, he had left the overcrowded football stadium behind and was now approaching the neighboring tennis courts. Dazed, he continued onward, drawn on by an unseen force.

He passed by cars and a deserted bicycle rack, some bleachers, a tent or three that had been obviously used for tailgating. Every now and then he'd kick an empty beer can out of his path, but as he drew nearer and nearer to the tennis courts, they became more infrequent. Now he could see the pavement change to a sidewalk, and upon picking his head up and looking forward for the first time in his trek, he noticed that he wasn't alone, surprisingly. Ten or so yards ahead was a young woman also walking towards the courts, wearing a short white dress and with a tennis bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. He watched her walk, and could tell instinctively that she would be gorgeous. No one strutted like that unless they had a pretty inflated sense of self, but from what he could see of her athletic and curvy body, she deserved the right to an ego problem.

Part of him wanted to turn away, since she was probably just like the other idiots in the stadium. But the majority of his mind was telling him that he needed a pick-me-up, and maybe she could provide that for him. What did he have to lose?

Thus, he followed her. Not necessarily in a creepy way (well, not _completely_, anyway), but simply to see where she was going and what she was doing, and if she had a boyfriend. The concurrent swings of her hips and long black ponytail acted as a hypnotist's watch: he was entirely under her spell, and he hadn't even seen her face. All he knew was that he had to follow her to the tennis court, and take it from there. Maybe this day would work out after all, despite the lack of cotton candy.

* * *

"Hey, can you pass me the popcorn?" Simon asked.

The stadium was crowded with students, whooping and hollering whenever anything happened in the Wombats' favor and cursing vehemently when it was the opposite. So far, the game was going just as unexceptionally as most sporting events. The Wombats hadn't scored any touchdowns yet, but neither had the opposing team, so it was all good. They had possession, in either case.

"Yeah, sure," Clary said distractedly, picking up the tub of popcorn from the concrete floor stained brown from spilled soft drinks of the past. Balancing her sketchbook and pencil under her arm for an instant, she passed Simon what he had requested.

"Thanks," he said back. As Simon took a handful of buttery popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth, Clary put her sketchbook on her knees again and went back to attacking the page with her pencil. Specifically, her drawing was of what she saw on the field: a bunch of football players, crouched down and ready to fight. "That looks good so far," Simon told her, glancing at her sketchbook.

Clary snapped to action and cradled it protectively against her chest. "You know the rules. No peeking."

Simon rolled his eyes affectionately. "Fine."

Just then, a shout went up from the crowd around them. Clary's eyes snapped to the field, and she immediately saw a Wombat tearing his way to the end line. She got a bit excited—could this be the first touchdown of the game?—but was promptly disappointed. The football player somehow managed to trip on thin air, and the ball flew out of his hands.

"God damn it," Simon groaned, exasperatedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How many times has that happened today?"

"I lost track at seven," Clary said indifferently and returned to her sketchbook, growing exasperated at her work. It was difficult, focusing on drawing with everyone booing around her, and the surrounding mayhem was unquestionably rubbing off on her sketch. Within seconds, it became all about heavy rough lines, dark and irritated. Just like Clary was quickly becoming, coincidentally.

"Well, I, for one, think that the Wombats are doing an exceptionally mediocre job today. Wouldn't you agree?"

Clary's only response was a snort, since she was putting the finishing touches on her sketch. By now, her hand was practically dancing across the pencil-darkened page, adding strokes here and there. She still wasn't _completely_ happy with how it looked, but it was good enough for a sketch, anyway. Clary became unaware that a few minutes were passing as she drew, completely tuning out the surrounding mayhem…

That is, until she was sharply jarred to reality. A loud cheer came up from all sides of the stadium as everyone jumped to their feet, and before she could react, a large stream of Pepsi flooded onto her lap and sketchbook.

"_Damn it!"_ Clary jumped to her feet, trying simultaneously to escape the fizzy brown puddle and clean herself off. She noticed that the man sitting behind her was frantically apologizing to her—he must have spilled his drink while jumping up—but she didn't acknowledge him. Her sketchbook was soaked in Pepsi, as was her shirt, and there would be no salvaging her drawing. It was ruined.

Waves of emotions crashed over her: irritation, dismay, frustration, and shock, to name a few. She found herself struggling to stay calm, angry tears springing to her eyes. The guy in the next row was still apologizing and everyone around looked concerned, which was making it worse.

"Clary?" Simon worried, dabbing at her dripping clothes with a napkin. "Are you okay?"

Clary pushed down the swell of emotions as much as she could and found her voice, trying to make it sound even. "I'm going to freshen up in the bathroom. I'll text you later."

Simon looked sad, his eyebrows furrowing sympathetically. "Okay… Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm fine." If she said it enough, maybe it would come true.

The guy behind her, face obscured with stripes of indigo paint, was still saying, "I'm really sorry. There was a touchdown and I didn't even remember that my Pepsi—"

"I'm _fine,"_ Clary enunciated coldly. "Catch you later, Simon."

And so, clutching her sodden sketchbook and maintaining as much dignity as she could, Clary pushed her way through the row of seated people and headed for the bathrooms.

* * *

"Isabelle! It's about time you got here."

The boy in the blue ski cap watched the lovely black-haired girl saunter onto one of the many tennis courts, where she joined two young men who were similarly clad in white. The one who spoke, a blond, was keeping a bright yellow-green ball in the air with idle taps from his racket, while the other, dark-haired guy was sitting impatiently in the stands.

"Well, I got here as fast as I could." The girl—Isabelle—spoke in a low, alluring voice and stopped walking. As she put her bag down and got out a racket, the boy with the ski cap finally got a better look at her. She was just as gorgeous as he had expected, so much that it made his stomach clench. "Now come on. Stop messing around."

The blond suddenly caught the tennis ball had been keeping aloft with his free hand, grinning broadly. He hadn't even looked to see if he'd catch it! All of that control and confidence, probably garnered from years of experience… And on top of that, he knew Isabelle in some way. The eavesdropping boy found that he hated this stranger with the dimpled smile and pretty blond curls.

And yet, he found himself being drawn closer. Now all that stood between him and the others was a fence, but it didn't even occur to him that they might see him. He only had eyes for Isabelle and her long, toned legs…

The dark-haired one stood up from his place in the stands and joined the others on the court. "Why did you even want to _come_ here, Iz? Are you sick of our court, or what?"

"We need variety!" Isabelle said. "And we also need to get used to playing on different courts. Do I have to remind you about the upcoming Mortal Cup, Alec?"

All of a sudden, the blond guy locked eyes with the eavesdropping boy. Clinging to the fence, the boy's own eyes went wide as they sized each other up.

"It appears that we have an audience," the blond said lowly, jerking his chin in the direction of where the boy was standing. Alec and Isabelle turned to look.

The boy nervously adjusted his ski cap.

* * *

The women's bathroom had the cloying, chemically floral smell of air freshener. It was giving Clary a headache as she worked soap into her stained shirt and held it under the faucet.

Her new sketch was currently in a garbage can, soiled and wet. Thankfully, most of her sketchbook had been spared, but she lost at least four other pages that were _also_ currently in the trash. And now the edges of all her pages had a wrinkly, brown cast to them, which was irritating.

Catching her harried-looking reflection in the mirror, Clary closed her bright green eyes briefly and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Yes, the day had taken an unfortunate turn, but that didn't warrant getting all agitated.

Clary's emotions usually ran away with her when such things happened (or all the time, really), and it often felt like she was struggling to keep up with them. She could usually stabilize herself and mellow out, but it almost always involved removing herself from the situation.

Opening her eyes again, she went over to the automatic hand-dryer and stood half-under it, so her shirt could dry out. The soap had removed most of the discoloration, which was a plus. As the seconds ticked on, Clary found herself feeling better. She didn't really want to go back to the game but was sure that Simon would understand.

After her shirt was dry again, Clary sent him a quick text message: _I'm going to find a quiet place to draw. See u after the game?_ Then she took off with her slightly damp sketchbook under her arm, wandering away from the noise of the football field.

Eventually, she found herself drawing closer to the long line of tennis courts.

* * *

"Are you seriously challenging me to a game?" The blond looked positively bewildered, resting his tennis racket back on a shoulder.

The boy in the ski cap was now standing opposite the small group, crossing his arms defiantly. Confidence, probably spurred on by thoughts of impressing Isabelle, was coloring his words. "What does it look like I'm doing, you ponce?" It didn't even matter that he'd never seriously played tennis before; he was absolutely sure that he could beat this pretentious guy and prove his worth to Isabelle.

Alec said, "Just ignore him, Jace. This kid doesn't know what he's saying."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm saying, and I'm not a kid. Asshole," spat the blue-capped boy, before directing his attention back to '_Jace'_. "Now, unless you're even more of a cowardly cake-boy than I assume you are—"

"Excuse me, _what?"_ Jace interrupted, thrown.

The boy ignored him. "—then you'll accept my challenge to one game of tennis. Someone needs to put arrogant asses like you in their place." Then he glanced at Isabelle, hoping that she would be impressed. Instead, she just looked confused. Obviously, she was only pretending to be confused for Jace's benefit and really _was_ impressed…

Jace looked long and hard at him for a few moments, bright blue eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. Oh, how the boy loathed him… "You know what? Fine. I'll play you. Alec, lend him your racket."

Alec was visibly surprised. "Jace, seriously?"

"Just do it," said Isabelle, who had been very quiet during the argument. "It's only one game, Alec." So she wanted to see him beat Jace, did she? Well, he would do his best.

"Fine." The very tall, dark-haired guy passed his racket to the boy, disgust evident on his face. "If you break my racket…"

The boy ignored that but nonetheless accepted the oddly-shaped instrument, swinging it around to get a feel for it. He turned to Jace. "Well, are we going to play, or are you too scared, Blondie?"

Jace heaved a big sigh and stretched like a lion. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

* * *

It was a nice day, especially for October, and the seemingly endless line of tennis courts was bathed in golden afternoon light. Some trees stood at regular intervals along the sidewalk, their leaves having turned warm shades of yellow and orange. Clary breathed in the crisp air appreciatively. She definitely wasn't regretting leaving the stadium behind, with all the loud people and ruckus.

Clary drew increasingly nearer to the tennis courts, feeling compelled to do so. She couldn't tell why, but that didn't stop her from continuing onward.

As she approached the dark fence surrounding the courts, Clary realized that there was some sort of game going on, which intrigued her. And the bleachers between the fence and tennis courts looked like a good place to sit and draw…

Hesitantly and yet still drawn forward, Clary went through the black fence's gate and took a seat in the stands. She opened her sketchbook to a fresh, dry page, and got ready to draw. As if in a daze, she raised her head to look at the nearest court…

Immediately, her eyes were drawn to one of the players. He was wearing a white polo shirt with matching shorts and shoes, all of which showed off his tanned, athletic body to good advantage. As he jumped and ran and swung his tennis racket around, Clary couldn't tear her eyes from him and his strong muscles. Every movement of his legs, every bounce of his curly blond hair, and every powerful swing of his arm made her more entranced by this player on the court. What she could see of his face was also essentially perfect—angular cheekbones, square jaw, straight nose—even as it twisted in concentration. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.

Clary found herself unexpectedly short of breath, but nonetheless began drawing. She needed to commit an image of this young man to paper, especially considering that she might never see him again. And her hand was actually cooperating for once, capturing exactly what she wanted it to—well, except for the tennis racket, but it wasn't her main focus, anyway.

It came as quite a shock when she noticed that the guy's opponent was the boy who was so adamant about cotton candy from the concession line earlier. And here he was, electric blue ski cap and all!

Clary didn't know much about tennis, but it looked like the blond was decisively winning. There was confidence and practiced capability in the way he moved, so it wasn't surprising. The boy with the ski cap, meanwhile, was floundering. It almost seemed cruel for him to be up against such an opponent.

She once again found herself getting lost in the motion of the game, the volleys and grunts setting a steady rhythm in her head. Clary could even feel her heartbeat start to sync with it; her hand, meanwhile, was still autonomously flitting across the page of her sketchbook, committing it all to paper. The game was like a dance or ritual, and it called to Clary in an almost mystical way, compelling her to draw.

At one point, as one of the blue-capped boy's serves actually managed to make it over the net, Clary's eyes met those of the blond tennis player for an instant. Some kind of shared understanding passed between them in that moment. The world stopped, each drawing in a breath and helplessly staring at each other. Even across the twenty-five feet or so separating them, they both felt an undeniable flash of attraction, like a darkened room being lit for the first time.

And just like that, time sped up again. The ball hit by the cotton candy lover turned out to be a lob, arcing neatly over the blond's head and landing just past the back line of the court.

"Out," the blond suddenly yelled in a deep, attractive voice that left Clary even more breathless than she was already. "It landed outside the line."

The boy with the ski cap didn't seem to take it well, emitting an unpleasant and disgruntled yelp. "It was clearly in. What, can you _not_ accept defeat? Arrogant ass."

"You're the one who can't accept defeat," retorted the blond indignantly.

That caused a tall, black-haired young man who Clary hadn't noticed before to intervene. "Easy there. Now, I didn't see it clearly, but there's no reason to get so worked up. Why don't you just redo the serve?"

"Because it was in!" insisted the kid, wildly brandishing his tennis racket.

A girl also stepped forward, to stand next to the dark-haired one. There was something about their faces that made Clary think that they might be siblings. "I don't know… Maybe it was on the line? Jace, what do you think?"

The blond guy, Jace, shrugged. Clary decided that his name suited him, in the inexplicable way that names often do. "I think it was out."

"It was in!" The boy in the electric blue ski cap now looked like he might snap his racket, since he was stomping around and gnashing his teeth. Clary wondered if he had anger issues, which seemed probable, considering his outbursts. "Fuck you, you pompous fop!"

_That might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life,_ Clary thought with a smile. She glanced at Jace to see how he was taking it, and found him barely stifling laughter.

The others didn't seem to think it was as funny. "Just redo the serve," said the dark-haired guy, sounding extremely irritated. "Seriously, it's not that big of a deal."

_"It was_ _in!"_

Clary didn't even consider speaking up, but she found herself doing it anyway. "I saw it. The ball landed just outside the line," she declared in a surprisingly loud and confident voice. Immediately, her shyness set in and she regretted interfering.

What made it worse was that everyone on the court was now looking at her, the black-haired ones not exactly in a friendly way. Jace, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. Clary tried to shrink down into her seat to no avail.

"_What?"_ sputtered the kid.

Jace's adorably dimpled smile was triumphant as he said, "You heard her. And, as that was your second fault on this serve, it appears that I've just won the game."

"Bullshit!"

The young woman of the group explained to him, "Well, those are the rules. You and Jace agreed to one game, and that point made Jace win."

He seemed to relax a bit when she spoke, but was still far from pleased. "_Peh_," he scoffed. "Fine, Blondie. Next time you won't be so lucky! I was off my game, and… this is a racket I'm unfamiliar with! My racket at home has better weight distribution."

"Just give me my fucking racket back," the dark-haired guy said exasperatedly. "You're going to give me a heart attack, carelessly swinging it around like that."

"Whatever. You can have this piece of shit back, I don't care." The kid handed it over with a look of poorly restrained resentment. "You all can go fuck yourselves." And with that, just as he did earlier at the concession stand, he stormed off.

After a moment of contemplating how strange the afternoon had been, Clary went back to her sketch and tried to finish it. It really was turning out to be one of her best, thanks in large part to the gorgeous rendering of Jace…

Out of the blue, the Jace in question smiled up at her and said loudly, "Hey! Thanks for the call."

"Oh, it's no problem," Clary said back in a slightly quavering voice. Abruptly self-conscious, she tucked an errant red curl behind her ear and sat up straighter.

Jace was still smiling at her. "Why don't you come down here? We don't bite… Well, _I_ don't. I can't really speak for these two."

"O-okay." She gathered up her sketchbook and pencil, and then made her way onto the court. Jace and the others were taller than she had expected, seemingly dwarfing her—or maybe that was just her nerves blowing things out of proportion.

"So, were you watching the game?" Jace asked her. Clary realized that he was just as beautiful up close as he was from far away, with his blue eyes and golden hair held back by a white sweatband. And there was a healthy flush to his cheeks, which was surprisingly cute.

She almost forgot that he had asked her a question. "Um, yeah. I don't know much about tennis, but you seemed like you know what you're doing." _That came out horribly_, she thought.

"Well, I'd hope so. You pretty much have to, if you want to be a pro." He added after a brief pause, "Which I do. The three of us are competing in the Mortal Cup next summer."

"Wow," Clary said, mildly awed. No wonder he was so good. "That's really incredible."

The tall guy cut in, "We might not actually be going. We'd need a fourth player for our team, as Jace knows but chooses to ignore."

Clary watched Jace roll his eyes. "We'll be able to find someone, Alec. Relax." Then he turned back to her. "And forgive my lack of manners! I'm Jace." He gestured toward the dark-haired pair, who were still looking rather unfriendly. "And these are Alec and Isabelle."

"I'm Clary. Nice to meet you all." Clary was sure that she was blushing furiously; she was feeling so awkward. A few seconds passed where no one said anything, Jace smiling pleasantly and Alec and Isabelle not. _New topic…_ "Uh, can I see your racket for a minute?" she asked Jace.

"What, this?" he said, holding it out for emphasis. Clary nodded. "Why?"

"I'm an artist, and I love, um, sketching bodies in motion, so I was kind of drawing you guys while I was sitting up there. Except I couldn't draw your racket correctly. I think if I saw it up close, I'd be able to do it, though."

Jace had his head tilted to one side, surveying Clary through slitted eyes. "You were drawing us?"

"Yeah… kind of." Now her embarrassment was off the charts. Why, oh why had she brought it up? She could have just looked up pictures of tennis rackets on the internet when she got home!

"Hmm." He paused for a moment, a smile spreading across his face. "Sure… I'll let you see my racket. That is, if I get to see your drawing."

"_Jace,"_ Alec said in a warning tone. The gold-haired young man waved him off, still looking at Clary imploringly.

"It's—it's not finished," she stammered.

"That's fine. Here, let's trade. My racket for your sketchbook."

Against her better judgment, Clary decided, "Okay." Reluctantly, she handed over her sketchbook, and Jace's tennis racket was put in her hand. It was warm from being used so recently, but her right hand nevertheless closed around it in a natural grip. It felt right, holding it, and she swung it around a couple times to get a better feel for the instrument. She paid special attention to the curve of it, the delicate web of crisscrossing strings, how effortlessly it cut through the air with a satisfying _swish_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Jace was alternating between glancing at Clary and her sketch. "This is a great drawing," he said when their eyes met.

"Oh… Thanks," she choked out, blushing.

He seemed to be considering something as they traded back their possessions. "Tell me, Clary. Have you ever played tennis before?"

Alec and Isabelle, who had been exchanging sarcastic expressions with each other throughout the conversation, suddenly looked exasperated. "Jace…" Alec groaned.

Jace dismissed him with a flippant wave, still grinning at Clary. "Well, have you?"

She glanced guiltily at Isabelle and Alec before turning her attention back to Jace. "No. My mom would never let me. Why?"

Just then, Clary's phone started ringing in her pocket to the tune of the Beatles song 'Hello Goodbye'. She answered it, shooting Jace and the others an apologetic look and mouthing the word "sorry" at them.

"_The game's over."_ It was Simon, sounding rather petulant. So the Wombats must have lost… "_Are you ready to go?"_

"Yeah. I guess I'll meet you in the parking lot. See you soon!"

_"Alright!"_

Clary hung up and put her cell phone back, before looking once again at Jace. "Well, it was really nice meeting you all, but I have to go now. Good luck with tennis and the, um, Mortal Cup." She tried to finish in a confident smile, and it only faltered slightly.

"Thank you! It was nice meeting you too, Clary," said Jace. Alec and Isabelle just looked bored.

With a disjointed wave, Clary left the tennis courts behind and made her way to the parking lot, the afternoon's events replaying in her mind: the football game, having Pepsi spilled on her, _Jace… _Did she make a mistake, leaving him behind without even getting his cell phone number?

On the drive to her mother's apartment with Simon, Clary couldn't think about anything besides tennis and Jace, and got the distinct feeling that it _had_ been a mistake to just leave him behind. _Just my luck,_ she thought with an audible sigh. Tilting her head back against the car seat, Clary closed her eyes and wished with every ounce of her being that they would see each other again.


	2. Chapter 2: Fault

_Edited as of 1/16/16._

* * *

A/N: Wow, I'm amazed at how popular this is already! Thank you, everyone! I really worked hard on this, and it feels amazing to see people appreciating my efforts. :)

And for anyone wondering how often I update, I try to write whenever I can (ideally I'd do a chapter a week), but sometimes life gets in the way.

Anyway, who's ready for the second chapter? :D This one covers Chapter 2, Secrets and Lies, of City of Bones but also parallels about half of Chapter 3, Shadowhunter. I'm trying to stick to the overall structure, though. Hope you all enjoy it!

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2  
FAULT

_Jace looked strong and beautiful in the afternoon sun, the light glistening off of his bare, moderately sweaty torso as he ran and jumped around the court. And Clary could do nothing but watch, positively transfixed at the sight of his impressive musculature. After a particularly good play, he triumphantly strode over to where she was standing and wrapped his powerful arms around her, bowing his head to—_

Disappointingly interrupting her daydream, Clary's cell phone started singing loudly in Paul McCartney's voice: "_You say goodbye, and I say hello! Hello, hello—"_ So Simon was calling her. She groaned aloud, but put down her sketchbook and made to answer it anyway. "Hello?"

"_Hey, Clary!"_ Why did Simon always have to call at the worst possible time? She'd been having such a delightful fantasy, spurred on by looking at her sketch of Jace for too long. "_How's it going?"_

"Fine, I guess," she said. "Just, you know, looking through my sketchbook and stuff." Simon didn't need to know about the daydream, and she _was_ looking at her gorgeous sketch…

"_That's nice. Do you have plans later? 'Cause I was wondering if you wanted to meet up at Perk 'n' Smirk. I need to make sure no one's beaten my pinball record."_ Perk 'n' Smirk Arcade 'n' Grill was a popular nerd destination located just down the street from SXU, and just so happened to be one of Clary and Simon's favorite places to unwind. And the food was decent, which made it even better for wasting away long afternoons between classes.

"Yeah, let's go. I have nothing better to do." Clary decided that obsessing over Jace like this wasn't healthy behavior, and that any distraction would be good for her. And yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him… "What time do you want to drop by?"

Simon actually had a car, unlike Clary, and generously drove her around pretty much whenever she needed it. _"I can get there in fifteen minutes. Is that good for you?"_

"Sure! I'll see you then." With one last longing peek at her sketch, Clary stood up from her perch on the red sofa and got ready to go, which involved coaxing her wild hair into braids and pulling on a pair of Oxford boots. She was absorbed in tying her shoelaces when she heard the familiar sound of her mother and Luke bustling through the front door.

Clary and her mother had lived in their cozy, third-floor apartment for as long as she could remember. And even though she was in college, she hadn't moved out yet, for both financial _and_ sentimental reasons. The tall, somewhat austere building would seem an unlikely place to call home, but it certainly was for Clary. Jocelyn's tasteful yet quirky decorating really brightened up the place, and Clary couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather live.

Luke, her mother's closest friend, came over frequently to spend time with them and help them out with things. He and Jocelyn had been out all morning doing who-knows-what and were deep in conversation when they came in. Clary's curiosity getting the better of her, she decided to hang back in the hallway and listen to what they were saying before revealing her presence.

"—I don't know why he's come back or how he found me, but he keeps trying to get in touch," she heard her mother say, sounding frantic. _Whoa, what?_ Clary thought, her interest definitely piqued. She carefully peered around the corner into the living room, and saw Jocelyn wringing her hands, her dark green eyes wide and fearful.

Luke, more stoic than Jocelyn, muttered back in his usual grumble, "Well, whatever he's doing here is obviously not good. Does he know about Clary?"

Clary stepped into the living room, figuring that was a good segue. "Does _who_ know Clary?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible, even though she was dying to learn what exactly they were talking about.

Jocelyn blanched immediately and halted in place, which only heightened Clary's suspicions that something was up. "Nothing important, dear."

Clary _highly_ doubted that. Her mother was normally as composed as anyone could be, somehow oozing sophistication wherever she went. It didn't matter if she was carrying heavy canvases or baking cookies in the kitchen: Jocelyn always lent everything an elegant touch. Even the way she moved was effortlessly graceful, like a former ballerina (Clary had always tried to copy that, to little avail). But all of her poise seemed to have deserted her now, because Jocelyn was practically quaking in her kitten heels. _What could it be…?_

"Uh-_huh_," Clary said disbelievingly, walking further into the living room and lowering herself into a plaid armchair. "Are you okay? You seem nervous."

"I'm fine. I just… didn't get enough sleep last night, is all," claimed her mother, not even making eye contact. Clary glanced at Luke, and saw that he was also avoiding looking at her.

She couldn't take it anymore. "What's going on, guys? Who were you talking about?"

Luke's expression darkened, still not visually acknowledging her. By now, he was pacing with both hands tucked into his jeans' pockets, sneakers squeaking slightly on the wood floor below with every step. "It's none of your concern, Clary."

"But you mentioned my name!" she protested. "I think I have a right to know why."

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, during which she watched Jocelyn pick up her sketchbook, still open to the picture of Jace, on the red sofa. "What is this?" her mother wildly demanded, shaking the book for emphasis and looking even _more_ worried, if that was possible.

Clary was thrown by her mother's reaction, but tried to play it cool. She started explaining, "It's just a sketch I drew yesterday. I saw some guys playing tennis, and—"

"Haven't I told you to avoid that sport?" Jocelyn's voice was as sharp as a sword, and Clary almost felt like it was physically piercing her. "I know I have. You have never been allowed to _think_ about tennis, let alone hang around the players. What on earth were you thinking?"

Jocelyn had always had a violent aversion to tennis, which Clary attributed to her natural eccentricity, but this was all too strange. "I was just drawing, Mom. Stop overreacting!"

Her mother and Luke looked at each other, wordless communication passing between them, but Clary never found out what they would say next. There was a knock at the door, and she sprang up to answer it.

It was Simon, grinning obliviously. "Ready to go?"

She grabbed her messenger bag off a nearby side table and slung it on. "Absolutely." With one last questioning look at her mother and Luke, Clary firmly shut the door. Whatever was making them act so strange could wait, as far as she was concerned.

Down the hall, she saw her dowdy neighbor, Ms. Dorothy, talking to an extremely tall, Asian-looking man in a tailored, cobalt blue suit. As she and Simon walked by, her gaze met the stranger's, and he smiled suavely and winked. He looked like a movie star, so Clary found herself wondering how he knew Ms. Dorothy. The woman never seemed to leave her apartment, let alone have visitors…

"Come on," Simon said, tugging her along by their linked arms. "No time for ogling handsome businessmen. Perk 'n' Smirk awaits!"

* * *

With a hard clack, the puck skittered across the air hockey table, only to be bumped back by Simon. It zigzagged towards Clary's side, borne aloft by little jets of air, but she easily deflected it and sent it back towards him. "—and then she said that I'm not even allowed to _think_ about tennis, because that's totally rational and everything."

"So, let me get this straight," Simon said, his brown eyes following the small plastic disc. With a muted grunt, he hit it back towards Clary, and then resumed speaking. "You met some tennis players yesterday, drew a picture of the most attractive one, and now your mom is freaking out because she believes tennis is a satanic ritual that causes global warming. Or something like that."

Clary gave the puck a particularly hard hit, and it zoomed straight across the table, easily entering Simon's goal slot. But she hardly registered the slight victory. "Apparently so. I have a right to be disturbed, don't you think? Not to mention that I heard her and Luke talking about me and some weird guy."

"In what way?"

All around them, young people—most of them dressed in some combination of witty T-shirts, baggy jeans, glasses, sneakers, and ironic accessories—were congregated around blaring game machines, occasionally shouting or making unpleasant shrieking noises. Even the air hockey table was whirring and beeping, with rhythmic clacks from their mallets. And behind it all was the hum of geek rock music from SXU's radio station. Such was the soundtrack of Perk 'n' Smirk.

"I don't know. Something to do with him finding Jocelyn, which is bad, and if he knew about me. They refused to tell me who they were talking about, of course."

"Hmm. Maybe your dad is finally coming into the picture."

"My _dad?"_ Clary never knew who her father was, but had always suspected it was Luke. Why else would he hang around so much? Jocelyn, for her part, only ever told Clary that it _wasn't_ Luke, and that her actual father didn't want to be in her life—but really, who else could he be? It wasn't like Jocelyn ever dated or even seemed interested in anyone. Not that Clary necessarily looked like Luke, but she was practically a clone of her mother, anyway. "I don't know…"

"I'm just sayin'. These things happen all the time." Distractedly, Simon pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Clary tried to sneak in a goal while he wasn't paying attention, but it didn't work. "Nice try, Fray. Unfortunately, your sneaky moves don't work on me."

"That isn't what you said last night," Clary retorted, grinning broadly. She was thankful for the subject change, as thinking about Jocelyn was only making her worry, and either way, she could never pass up an excuse to razz Simon.

"Yeah, ha-ha. Never mind that _my_ mom is convinced we're dating. Whenever I call her, she asks how you're doing and tries to give me weird talks about safe sex and birth control."

"Then why don't you tell her the truth? Your mom doesn't strike me as a homophobe." In the middle of their sophomore year of high school, Simon had officially come out to Clary as gay. She had been mildly surprised, but was never bothered by it. It was just as much a natural part of him as his nearsightedness or the cowlick in the back of his hair. "And besides, she's going to find out eventually."

"Not if I have a say in it," Simon said darkly, hitting the puck back to her side. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. But anyway, what were we talking about?"

"_My_ mother's bizarre hatred of tennis."

Just then, one of Simon's back-up-friends, Kirk, ran up and stood next to the air hockey table. He had a crazed smile on his face, which couldn't mean anything good. "Simon!" he shouted, despite only being two feet away from him. "Eric just broke your pinball record!"

"_What?"_ Simon yelled in a strangled-sounding voice, looking both shocked and murderous. "You're fucking kidding me. My score was _unbeatable!_"

"Apparently not, man," said Kirk.

Simon turned to Clary with an expression of fierce determination, which made her smile. "We'll finish this game later, Fray. I need to recapture my honor."

"You do that," she coached. "Go put Eric in his rightful place."

"I think I will!" Simon sniffed dramatically and slammed his mallet down on the air-emitting table, where it idly hovered around. "Are you going to watch?"

Clary thought about it, recalling the many times she had stood by as Simon played seemingly endless, repetitive games of pinball. Decidedly, she put down her plastic mallet as well. "I think I'll head home. I need to talk to my mom, anyway."

"Okay. Text you later?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. Now shoo. You have a record to beat." With a brief wave of farewell, Clary made her way out of the noisy arcade.

* * *

As was typical of late Sunday afternoons in October for the city of St. Xavier, the sky was drab and cloudy, and looked like it was threatening rain. Clary regretted not bringing a sweater, especially when a chilly gust of wind hit her in the face. Sighing, she steeled herself against the cold and began the short trek home, her messenger bag bumping against her hip with every step.

While she was walking down the deserted sidewalk, she started thinking about her mother. Jocelyn's behavior had always been somewhat eccentric, but the way she'd been acting recently just raised questions. Why was she so opposed to tennis in the first place? A reaction like that wasn't exactly normal. And who had she and Luke been talking about? Could Simon be right, that it was her absent father? But really, why _tennis?_ It didn't seem like the likeliest sport to provoke irrational anger.

Then she found her thoughts drifting to Jace, with his magnificent display of athleticism the night before and how he had actually spoken to her, despite her awkwardness and overall lack of social skills. What could he possibly think of her? And he was _so_ good-looking…

Instinctively, Clary turned her head to look at the street. A sleek black car was approaching and about to pass by, but before it could, she caught sight of the driver. Male, with blond curls and a classically handsome face—

_"Jace!"_ Clary gasped, her hands immediately reaching up to adjust her messy braids. And it looked like he had seen her too, or at least had been glancing in her direction… What were the odds? But his car was driving by, so she figured that she would have to content herself with the short glimpse.

She realized that she felt acutely disappointed and paused, surprised at herself. As she looked down at the sidewalk, taking a moment to make sense of her thoughts, her peripheral vision registered that Jace's car was pulling over. "What?" she breathed, scarcely daring to believe her eyes. He was definitely parking. Clary was dazed, unable to do anything but watch. So when he opened his car door, got to his feet, and then looked directly at her, she felt dually glued to the concrete and as if she were soaring above the gray clouds.

Jace broke into a brilliant smile. "Clary! You _are_ Clary, right?"


	3. Chapter 3: Tennis Player

_Edited as of 1/23/16._

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A/N: Sorry for my long hiatus! Huge thanks to everyone who supports this story. :)

This update covers the second half of chapter 3 and most of chapter 4 of City of Bones, if anyone is following along. I hope you all like it!

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3  
TENNIS PLAYER

Now Jace was _actually_ approaching her, still with that pleased and slightly silly grin on his face. Clary felt dual rushes of exhilaration and apprehension, both of which were making her abruptly short of breath. _What do I do?_ she thought desperately.

He came to a stop only a few feet away from her, looking incredibly clean-cut and handsome—which wasn't helping her nerves one bit. And he had _gotten out of his car_, just to talk with her… Right when she had been thinking about him, too. How odd. Not that Clary was complaining, of course…

"Fancy seeing you here," he said delightedly. "I was just driving around, and all of a sudden, I looked over and saw _you!_ Crazy, isn't it? The same girl I met yesterday, walking along the sidewalk. I hope you're not in any hurry. But if you are, I don't have to stay for long. I just figured, you know—"

Clary couldn't help but return his smile, as nervous as she was, since Jace's excited babbling was really cute. "_It's fine_," she said breathlessly, and then cleared her throat to try to sound more normal. "I mean, it's totally fine. I don't have any plans." _That came out wrong… _Clary started panicking internally. Why did she say it like _that?_ Now Jace was going to think that she had social issues. Which she kind of did, but—

"What a coincidence! I don't have plans, either." Still beaming, Jace shifted his weight and crossed his arms, and Clary's eyes greedily feasted on the sight of him. The strong contours of his body, barely concealed by a polo shirt and tailored powder blue shorts… His gleaming golden hair, ungirded by a sweatband today and flopping adorably in his face… Bright blue eyes staring right at her…

Clary found her face growing warm, and cast her eyes at the sidewalk for an instant. She suddenly felt guilty for checking him out like that. "That's surprising. You seem like a busy guy." Glancing up again briefly, she managed a shy smile.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that most of the time. But not today." He was still gazing at her, and his smile hadn't wavered… Clary glanced down again out of some demure habit. When she dared to look back at Jace, he was giving the sky an appraising stare. "Doesn't look like a good day to be walking around, though. I hope you have an umbrella."

It _did_ look like it would rain any minute. By now, the clouds were dark and even more ominous than they had been before. "Unfortunately, I left mine at home," Clary said, still amazed that she was having a conversation with Jace (as awkward and inconsequential an exchange as it was, of course).

"Well, _I_ think we should seek shelter immediately, before the heavens open." Jace did a quick sweep of the area, and Clary noticed that his gaze lingered on Steamy Indulgences, a hipster café across the street. "In fact, I could go for some coffee right about now. What about you?"

"I'm _always_ in the mood for coffee," she told him, suddenly enthusiastic. Her heart was also beating very quickly at the prospect of alone time with Jace… "And Steamy Indulgences is pretty good." Clary's cheeks burned again. "Despite the weird name, anyway."

Jace's grin was even brighter than before, somehow. "Excellent! I should probably put money in the parking meter, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, probably," Clary laughed. She was still unable to think clearly, but in a good way. _Does this count as a sort-of date?_ she wondered mentally, her excitement growing at an exponential rate. Jace wanted to spend time with her! If only she had known beforehand… Then she could have worn something more attractive than her old flannel shirt. _Ah well._

She watched him stroll towards his car with a casual saunter and pay the parking meter, before grabbing an umbrella and checking at least twice that the doors were locked. "Now that that's taken care of, I think it's time for some Steamy Indulgences," he smirked broadly, winking when his eyes met Clary's.

She laughed again, despite her deep blush. "Easy there, hotshot."

He walked back to where she was standing, and gently pressed his hand against her back, leading her towards the nearby intersection. They had to wait a moment for the traffic to settle down, but then crossed the street towards the brick-fronted café. Clary felt like she was in a daze, and the only thing on her mind was the surprising warmth and steadiness of Jace's hand when he had touched her.

* * *

With Jace, even waiting in line didn't seem like a chore. In the few minutes it took to order, receive their drinks, and find a table, Clary had already learned that Jace hated Earl Grey tea, drank his coffee black, had the habit of bouncing around a little when he was bored, innately distrusted 'the establishment', and was overall a natural conversationalist—which made it all the more surprising that he was directing his boundless energy at her, of all people.

Clary, for her part, was doing a lot of smiling and nodding. The fact that Jace was doing most of the talking didn't bother her one bit, since it was an excellent opportunity to both get to know him better and stare unabashedly at him. She couldn't get past how incredibly beautiful he was: not in an effeminate way, of course, but in a refreshingly masculine sense. Everything about Jace was gorgeous, and that was that. _And people say that only women can be_ _pretty_, Clary thought with a touch of amusement.

It didn't even bother her that she _was_ kind of obsessing over his looks. The way she rationalized it was that, as an artist, she had a unique appreciation for aesthetics and the human form. As Jace carried on, talking about his tennis career, she found herself fantasizing about drawing him in a variety of situations… playing tennis, romping around on a sunny day, _posing nude_… And she wasn't going to deny that she wanted him to touch her again…

"So, what are _you _doing?"

"W-what?" Clary blinked, faintly embarrassed.

Jace smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You know, what are you doing with your life? I've been talking about myself this whole time, so I figured that I would stop monopolizing our conversation. I want to know more about you."

Clary took a sip of her cappuccino and settled back in her chair, thinking about how to approach the subject and coming up empty. What was there to say? She didn't think that her life was particularly interesting. "I'm afraid that there's not much to know about me," she said self-effacingly.

"I'm sure that's not true. You're an artist, right? Your sketch was excellent."

She glanced forward at Jace, remembering how it felt to have him holding her sketchbook and looking at her drawing of him. It had been a remarkably intimate experience, all things considering. She decided that this was, too, sitting opposite Jace with his inquisitive blue eyes. He wanted to get to know her better, for whatever reason… "I'm an art student at St. Xavier University, with a concentration in drawing. Um… I live with my mom. I draw… frequently." Clary found it very difficult to concentrate with Jace staring at her like that.

"Well, it certainly shows. You're very talented."

She grinned, faintly embarrassed at his praise. "Thanks. It's one of the best drawings that I've done in a while… Is there, uh, anything else you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me," Jace said.

_How unhelpful_, Clary thought, struggling to find something to talk about that Jace would find interesting. "So, you're a tennis player? My mom never let me play sports."

"Really?" Jace seemed thrown, like he had never considered such a thing to be possible.

"Yeah. I don't know why, but she's always had a strict no-sports rule. It really irritated my gym teachers. They always tried to convince me to sign up for teams anyway, since they claimed I had natural talent."

He leaned forward even more, clearly intrigued. Clary could almost detect in his eyes the glimmer of a new scheme… "Which sport did you like the most in gym class?"

She considered it. "Hmm, maybe running. Or soccer. Swimming." Clary smiled again and leaned in, mimicking Jace's posture. "But I always did want to play tennis."

Jace's own grin widened, just as she had hoped it would. "Well, if you ever feel the need to seek out personal lessons, I _am_ a semi-professional."

"Not that my mom would let me. She'd probably have a fit if she even knew that I was here with you now. For whatever reason, she doesn't want me '_associating with tennis players'_," Clary air-quoted. "I have no idea why."

"That's really strange," Jace said. "I—"

He was cut off by the sudden blaring of Clary's phone. As if on cue, her mother's specific ringtone, 'Mother Knows Best' from Tangled, was now playing. Clary groaned and fished her cell phone out of her purse. "Sorry. It's my mom."

She was just about to hit 'ignore' when Jace said, "Answer it. It's fine."

"You sure?" Clary asked, feeling rude at answering her phone while she was alone with someone.

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Alright…" Hesitantly, Clary held the phone to her ear. "Hi, Mom. What's up?" Then she remembered that she hadn't left the house on the best note. "Is everything alright? I'll probably be home soon—"

Clary registered that Jace now looked slightly crestfallen as her mother gasped, "_No! Don't come home. It's not safe. I—think there's someone in here."_

"What?" Clary felt her pulse increase. "What do you mean? Have you called the police?"

"_Yes. Don't worry about me. Just—stay with Simon tonight. I don't want you getting caught up in this mess."_

"What mess?" There was a brief silence over the line, broken by a sudden thudding noise. "Mom? Are you there?"

"_I'll handle it, Clary. Don't worry about me."_ There was a crash, and then the call ended.

"Mom?" she said into her phone, before frantically dialing her mother's number. The call went straight to voicemail, which only made her even more frantic.

Jace said, "Clary? What's wrong?" She glanced up and saw him, almost having forgotten that he was still there. Embarrassment mixed with her anxiety, especially when she realized how concerned he looked. "Is your mom alright?"

"I have no idea. She just told me not to come home, and…" Suddenly, her eyes started to well with unbidden tears, her heart racing. Clary began shaking slightly in her seat. "She thinks that someone is in our apartment, but she said she already called police… I can't just leave her."

"That's horrible," he said, looking and sounding like he really meant it. "Do you need anything?"

"I have to go home," she whispered, barely holding it all together. "I'm so sorry. I was having a great time." Great was an understatement. Of course this amazing moment would be ruined, knowing her luck…

"I was, too. I can give you a ride home, if you want."

Jace was just too perfect, too incredibly sweet for words. Feelings of inadequacy were added to her other swirling emotions, which made Clary faintly dizzy. "I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't want to be a burden…"

He said reassuringly, "I promise you that you're not a burden. Let's go. I'm taking you home."

"Okay…" Clary guiltily stared down at her half-empty cappuccino. "I'm sorry that we didn't get to finish our coffee."

"Contrary to popular belief, there are more important things in life than coffee," Jace said with a hint of a smile. "Come on."

* * *

Jace had been right about the rain. As they drove the seemingly endless route to Clary's house, rain battered the windshield in heavy, enormous drops. The windshield wipers were barely keeping up, even on the highest speed, but Jace seemed undeterred. For the whole ride, he wore an expression of grim determination, even as Clary gave him directions in a faltering voice that was barely audible above the noise of the rainstorm.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached her apartment building. Clary took deep breaths to steel herself while Jace said, "You can do this. I'll be waiting out here in case you need me, alright?"

"You don't have to do that," she said tonelessly.

Jace just stared at her for a moment, looking equally resolute and sincere. "It's not a matter of what I _have_ to do, Clary. I'm not going to abandon you at a time like this."

She had been about to protest, but his words took her breath away. She didn't know why Jace was being so nice to her, but it offered a faint glimmer of hope in a bad situation. "Okay." Taking one last deep gulp of air, she thrust open the car door, and rain began to pour in immediately, striking her like bullets. Clary tried to steel her nerves, panic setting in again.

"You're forgetting something," Jace said, the sound of his voice snapping her out of her nervous reverie.

Clary glanced back and saw that his right hand was outstretched, offering her his umbrella. She took it gratefully and tried to return his encouraging smile, to little success. "Thank you. Really," she told him, trying to convey through her eyes how much it meant to her. Jace's blue gaze, steadfast and soothing, held hers for an instant, during which the rain and her anxiety were reduced to nonissues.

With gritted teeth and the umbrella firmly in place, Clary plunged into the storm.

* * *

As soon as she got to her floor, she could tell that something was seriously wrong. The long corridor leading to her apartment was cloaked in shadow, only serving to disconcert her further. Had the light burned out? Heart racing, Clary ran down the hallway and stopped outside her door, which she soon discovered had been left ajar.

"Here we go," Clary whispered desperately to herself as she pushed it open, afraid of what she might find. All the lights were off inside, so she groped her way to a light switch. It wasn't like Jocelyn to turn off every light in the apartment…

Flipping the switch to the 'on' position revealed a scene of chaos. Most of the furniture was overturned or destroyed. All of her mother's beautiful paintings had been taken off the walls and were nowhere to be seen. The couch cushions were strewn around the entire room, their fabric shredded and lying in tatters. Clary was aghast. What horrible event had happened here? Had Jocelyn been present for the apparent fight in her own living room?

"Mom?" Clary had intended to shout, but it came out as a broken whimper. "Mom, are you here?"

She apprehensively made her way through the other rooms in the apartment, each one seeming to have been looted as well. Every time she looked down, Clary was afraid that she would find her mother's body nestled among the wreckage. As much as the thought terrified her, she plowed onward on unsteady legs.

Eventually, she had made a full rotation around the ruined apartment. Her only consolation was that she hadn't found anything gruesome. But where was Jocelyn? Why had she hung up so suddenly on the phone? Had she made it out in time before all of this happened? Was she even alive?

Clary thought of the afternoon, just a few hours before, when she, her mother, and Luke had all been in the living room together. It seemed like an entirely different world, one where terrible situations like this didn't happen. She regretted leaving on such an abrupt note, especially since she and Jocelyn had been fighting. As far as she knew, she might never even have the opportunity to apologize. Any number of unspeakable things could be happening to her mother at that very moment, the least of them being death.

Overwhelmed, Clary sunk to her knees on the floor and sobbed for a long time. Her entire world had come crashing down, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. Even if Jocelyn were still alive, all of their possessions were ruined or missing. Nothing would ever be the same.

Crying made Clary feel a little better, if only for the emotional release. After a while of doing just that, she got to her feet and decided to pack up whatever was left in her room. It was obvious that she couldn't stay here. She found that most of her clothes and art supplies were untouched, which was a minor relief in and of itself. She tried to fit as much as she could into her backpack and messenger bag and, giving one last look at the remains of her bedroom, started to head towards the front door.

On her way back through the shadowy hallway and while going downstairs to the lobby, she hollowly weighed the options of what to do next. Call the police, call Luke, call Simon… And then there was Jace, who was probably still waiting in his car. Clary decided that calling Luke was most urgent, just in case he knew more of what had happened than she did. Then she would call the police and take it from there.

She had made her way back outside—the rain had finally stopped, it seemed—and was just about to dial Luke's number when she suddenly came face-to-face with a large, rough-looking man. And before she could react, the man pushed her against the wall of her apartment building, causing her to drop her phone.

"What's in the suitcase, little lady?" he growled in her face, reeking of alcohol, tobacco, and unwashed wounds. "Got any money in there?"

"No!" she gasped, trying unsuccessfully to edge her way out of his tight grip. "Please—let me go!"

"Aww, there's no need to struggle…" Almost lazily, he drew a knife, which made Clary's heart sink into her stomach. Why was all of this happening today? "You _are _a pretty one, so I'll make this easy for you. Now, hand over your money and no one gets hurt."

"I don't—" she choked, breaking off with an exhale. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a figure running towards them. Was someone coming to help her?

"_Clary!"_

The unexpected yell made the rough man pull back from her for an instant. And that was all it took. As if in a dream, Clary was only half-aware of how the mysterious figure charged in and hit her attacker square in the face with a tennis racket.

The man swayed and fell backwards from the impact like a chopped tree, his head making a dull thudding noise as it collided with the sidewalk.

"_Clary!"_

The unexpected yell made the rough man pull back from her for an instant. And that was all it took. As if in a dream, Clary was only half-aware of how the mysterious figure charged in and hit her attacker square in the face with a tennis racket.

The man swayed and fell backwards from the impact like a chopped tree, his head making a dull thudding noise as it collided with the sidewalk.


	4. Chapter 4: Relief

_Edited as of 1/23/16._

* * *

A/N: WOW! I am so amazed and humbled by all of the attention this is getting. You guys are really the absolute best! I hope you all continue to enjoy my story~

And just to clear something up, a reviewer asked if the boy with the ski cap in Chapter 1 was Valentine. He's actually a parallel of the blue-haired demon from Chapter 1 of _City of Bones_, but he may be returning in this story, and his reappearance _may_ just have to do with Valentine... ;)

This chapter is based on the last part of _CoB_'s 4 and most of 5. Enjoy!

* * *

4  
RELIEF

The official investigation had been going on for quite a while. After Jace had fortuitously knocked out the man who was trying to mug Clary, the two of them immediately used his phone to call the police. Clary had already given them her witness accounts of both the attempted robbery and the looted apartment, and also told them about how her mother was missing. Currently, the apartment was cordoned off and being examined by investigators. Her attacker, now fully conscious, was sitting handcuffed in a nearby police car. Jace was animatedly talking some distance away to the detective called to the scene, Jeremiah Brudder. Even Ms. Dorothy, her grouchy neighbor, had been brought out of the building to be interviewed by an officer. And Clary was alone, trying to keep it all together.

_What a mess_, she thought miserably. She still had her suitcase and messenger bag but had no idea where she was going to stay that night. On top of that, her phone was destroyed beyond repair, since she had dropped it while being mugged. And then there was the little matter of her mother having vanished off the face of the earth. Clary was exhausted and emotionally spent, to the point where she almost felt numb.

Time passed by in a blur. Eventually, someone sat next to her on the stairs. Clary glanced up, startled, and saw that it was Detective Brudder. "You were very fortunate that your boyfriend was close enough to help you," he said to her. "A tennis racket isn't the most traditional weapon, but it got the job done. He's a very clever young man."

"He's not my—" Clary started to say, but decided to let it pass, as she was too exhausted to explain everything. She looked over to where Jace had been standing, but didn't see him anywhere. Had he left? "I mean, thanks."

The detective appraised her through kind, crinkled eyes. While interviewing her before, he had been calm and considerate of her emotional stress, and Clary gave him a lot of credit for that. "Miss Fray, I know that this must be a very trying situation for you, but I want to let you know that we've got it under control. You did the right thing in calling us."

"Thank you," Clary said listlessly. "I just hope we can find her."

"We'll certainly try," the detective told her in a reassuring voice. "You may want to stick around here for a little while, but it shouldn't be too much longer before you can leave." Then he stood up again and walked away to confer with a couple police officers.

Clary let her head drop into her hands and massaged her forehead. Barely a minute passed before someone else sat next to her on the steps.

"Hey." It was Jace, half-smiling and offering Clary a to-go cup of coffee from Steamy Indulgences. "I got this for you."

"Wow. Thanks." Clary felt marginally better as soon as she accepted the warm cup from his outstretched hand. But why was he being so relentlessly sweet to her? "That was really nice of you."

"It was no trouble," he replied with a good-natured shrug. Even just sitting next to her, Jace looked incredibly handsome, which only further confused Clary. He could have been doing _anything_ else, and yet he was here with her in this unpleasant situation. And they had only met the day before. "How are you doing?"

"How am _I_ doing?" she echoed, thinking about it. "I guess I'm a little cold." Night was fast approaching, and she didn't have a sweater. Up until that point, she hadn't even realized the change in temperature.

Jace was silent for a brief moment and took a sip of his own coffee. "I could sit a little closer, if you think that would help."

"I—I guess that would work." Abruptly, at the thought of being closer to Jace, Clary felt her heartbeat speed up. It was puzzling to her on a certain level that she could even _have_ a reaction like that in the midst of all this chaos, but she decided to go along with it anyway.

She was hyper-aware of Jace's body as he scooted closer to her, until their sides were touching. He was surprisingly warm, and Clary could feel herself unconsciously relaxing against him. After a few seconds, his muscles tensed, which made her worry that he was moving away. But Jace only stretched out his arm around her shoulders. "Do you mind?" he asked, giving her a tender look.

"Not at all," she breathed in response. His arm, so strong and powerful on the tennis court the previous day, was now unspeakably gentle as it held her to him. Tentatively, Clary rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. All of her negative emotions were diminishing and fading away, leaving her unusually peaceful.

Clary heard footsteps approaching and opened her eyes, seeing that Detective Brudder was now standing in front of them. "Miss Fray. Mr. Wayland," he said. _Jace Wayland_, Clary mused to herself, deciding that the name suited him. "We've secured the scene, and I can assure you that the full investigation is underway. You both are free to leave now. We'll be in contact with you in the coming days."

"Thank you for all of your hard work," Jace said diplomatically. Clary, thoroughly worn out, was grateful that he had spoken instead of waiting for her to say something.

The detective chuckled to himself. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just doing my job. Well, I wish you both luck in this difficult time. If you need to get in touch with me, here's my card." He handed his business card to Clary, who tucked it into her messenger bag for safe keeping, and left them alone again.

Jace said quietly after a moment's silence, "So, what do you want to do now?"

"I should call Luke and see if I can stay with him," Clary said. "He's my mom's best friend. Can I use your phone? Mine broke when the mugger… you know."

"Sure thing." Jace reached into one of his pockets with his free hand and brought out a smart phone. But when he tried to go to the home screen, the display stayed black. "Oh no… My phone must have died during the investigation. This sucks."

"Oh," was all Clary could say.

"I think I have a charger in my car. And if we sit in there, it'll get us out of the cold."

Clary realized that she didn't want Jace to let go of her, but at the same time acknowledged that it wouldn't be practical to sit there all evening. And Jace's warm car did sound more appealing than a cold stoop. "Okay. We can do that."

Jace removed his arm from her shoulders and got to his feet, offering a hand to Clary to help her up. "Let's go. I'll take your suitcase for you."

Her initial reaction was to protest, but instead she smiled and let him take it. Jace just seemed like a natural gentleman who honestly _wanted_ to go out of his way to be nice to people. It was extremely refreshing, and only enhanced Clary's attraction to him. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome." Jace was grinning now, which of course made him look even more impossibly good-looking. "Come on. My car is this way."

* * *

"I could have sworn it was in here!" Jace said bewilderedly, his face a perfect mask of astonishment. As much as Clary wished that he hadn't forgotten his phone charger, she had to admit that he looked pretty cute. "I must have left it at home this morning. See, the _adapter_ is still here, but the _cord_ is missing."

"That's too bad," said Clary, trying not to sound overtly amused.

"Alec and Isabelle are probably freaking out. I texted them earlier, and I thought it was weird that they weren't getting back to me… I should have realized that my phone was dead. I must be having an off day."

Clary snorted despite herself. "_You're_ having an off day."

Jace glanced over to her, and his expression turned remorseful, comical in its sincerity. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive. I don't know what I was thinking."

She gave a tired smile. "It's fine, Jace. I'm not offended at all."

"Alright, if you're sure," he said airily. "If you really need to call someone, I could take you back to my place for a little while. My family wouldn't mind, given the situation."

Clary weighed her options. She _could_ ask him to take her to the dorms at SXU so she could stay with Simon, but that wasn't the best idea, since the rooms were small and Simon's roommate, Eric, was obnoxious. She could also have Jace drive her to Luke's house, but there was always the possibility that he wasn't home. "That would be great," she decided, secretly pleased that spending more time with Jace was the best option.

"Excellent." Jace and Clary locked eyes briefly while he was starting the car, and they both smiled.

* * *

"This is your _house_?" Clary asked in awe as Jace's car pulled into the long driveway of a magnificent brick mansion with bright white windows. Even in the twilight, she could see that it was comfortably nestled among trees and manicured shrubbery, with ivy winding up the tall sides, and overall looked more like an old university hall or a historic hotel than a house.

"I was adopted by a very wealthy family," Jace said simply, as if he were discussing the weather.

"It's enormous! And so pretty… You must have professional gardeners with bushes like that." Clary indicated a row of boxy, immaculate hedges outside her window.

Jace drove into a roomy four-car garage and parked. "Only twice a week."

Clary's mouth dropped open. "Twice a week?" She felt abruptly insecure about her small apartment and how she could fit most of her possessions in a single suitcase.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jace gave her a gentle smile. "You'll see that it's a house just like any other. It has a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, bedrooms… The size is irrelevant. I can give you a tour after your phone call, if you want."

"That would be nice…" Clary said, taking in the sight of the row of fancy cars and miscellaneous sports equipment—canoes, oars, a soccer net, skis, and countless other accoutrements—as they made their way towards the main building. There was even an aerodynamic-looking speedboat on a trailer and a fireman pole leading from the floor above. _Must be a sporty family…_ she mused internally.

"Normally, I'd lead a visitor through the grand foyer at the front of the house, so you'll have to forgive me for using the side door and sparing you from the pomp and circumstance. It's closer, and I know you're tired."

"Thank you." He was right; she was _very_ tired. She hoped that calling Luke and going back to his house wouldn't take too long, since her eyelids were already feeling heavy.

They reached an elegant white door, and Jace held it open for her. "After you."

"Thanks," Clary said as she walked into a gorgeous modern kitchen: almost all black and white with stainless steel appliances and a huge counter island. "This is a great kitchen." She imagined what it would be like to cook in this state-of-the-art room, and decided that its layout was much more efficient than her usual handkerchief-sized kitchen.

"We had it remodeled last year. Isabelle especially loves the new design," Jace said, leaning on the counter island.

Clary thought about the statuesque, black-haired girl from the day before. "I met Isabelle yesterday, right?"

"Yes," he grinned approvingly. "You also met her brother, Alec. They're my adopted siblings. You won't be able to meet our parents, though, since they're overseas with the baby of the family at his first junior tennis tournament."

"Do you _all_ play tennis?" Clary asked, slightly in awe. If only her mother could see her now…

"It's something of a family tradition."

At that moment, Alec entered the kitchen through an archway and stood with his arms crossed. His austere expression made Clary extremely uncomfortable. "Jace Wayland, you had better have a good reason why you were missing all day."

"I actually will have you know that I have an _excellent_ reason, Alec Lightwood," Jace said calmly. "You remember Clary from yesterday?"

Alec glanced briefly at Clary, then went back to accosting Jace. "Where were you? I've been trying to contact you for the past several hours. You've had me worried sick. Izzy, too."

"I'll explain it all to you in a minute, Alec. Clary needs to make a phone call."

"Can you at least tell me why you weren't returning my texts?" Alec asked impatiently.

"I forgot to bring my car charger."

Alec heaved an exasperated sigh, a movement that undulated through his entire lanky frame. "Of course you did, you absentminded—"

"So, Clary," Jace interrupted, turning back to face her. She just wanted to be left alone, but was too tired and emotionally drained to say anything about it. Giving her a long look, he seemed to understand her desire for privacy and gestured for her to follow him into a small, adjoining room. "You can make your call in here."

"Thank you," Clary said. This room, outfitted in dark mahogany, held a miniature bar, stools, and a couple leather armchairs, one of which she sank into. Jace picked up a landline phone from an adjacent end table and handed it to her. For a second, she was distracted by the table's lamp, since its base was curiously shaped like a mallard. Jace saw what she was staring at and grinned. "Quaint, isn't it? Our dad loves hunting. I can't exactly say that I agree with his decorating choices, but ducks _are_ pretty classic." Clary gave a weak smile in response. "Anyway, good luck. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he said, closing the door behind him.

Sighing and giving one last look at the duck lamp, Clary dialed Luke's cell phone number and waited for him to pick up. _Please answer_, she thought desperately.

_"Hello? This is Luke Garroway. Who is this?"_

Clary breathed a sigh of relief. "Luke, it's me!" she said, tears springing into her eyes.

"_Clary! Is everything alright?"_

"Oh, Luke, it's horrible," Clary said, really starting to sob as she thought about everything that had happened. "The apartment was ransacked, Mom is _missing_—"

_"I know. The police called me a little while ago. Thank you for giving them my number as a contact. How are _you_ coping? Are you okay?"_

She sniffled, despite her efforts to stop crying. "I'm doing alright. I'm with a friend."

"_That's good to hear."_

"Are you home? When can I come over? I have my stuff with me."

_"Oh, Clary… I wish I could have you over, but I'm actually on the road right now. I left a couple hours ago to visit an old friend in Massachusetts."_

"Oh." Clary's heart sank.

_"Do you have somewhere to stay?"_

So she would have to spend the night with Simon and Eric after all, in their cramped dorm room… "I—I think so. I'll be fine."

_"Just remember that you can call me at any time, okay? I should be back in town in a couple days, so just hang in there until then. Can you do that?"_

"Yeah. I'll see you then," she said, wiping her cheeks dry.

_"Listen, Clary. Your mother will be fine. I've known her for a long time, and I can tell you that if she was really kidnapped, she's probably making her captor's life hell right now and insulting his interior decorating. She's a resilient woman, and she would never abandon you."_

Clary gave a weak, teary laugh, feeling comforted by his words. "You're probably right. And the police _did_ tell me that they have it under control."

_"Exactly. Now you hang in there, and call me if you need anything."_

"Okay. Bye, Luke."

_"Bye, Clary. Stay strong."_

* * *

When she entered the kitchen again, Isabelle had joined Jace and Alec. She and her brother were both looking at Jace, who was speaking enthusiastically with lots of arm movements.

"—the Mortal Cup. We'll be fine." Then he glanced over and saw Clary. "There's our guest! How did your phone call go, Clary?"

"It went really well," she said with a small smile. Alec and Isabelle were both looking at her sympathetically, so she assumed that Jace had already explained everything to them. "I feel a lot better now."

"Great! Would you like something to eat?"

She yawned. "I'm okay. I'm not exactly hungry at the moment."

Isabelle tilted her head to the side, regarding the petite redhead for an instant through inquisitive, dark eyes. "It's getting kind of late… Do you need somewhere to stay? We have a few spare rooms."

_Maybe generosity runs in the family_, Clary thought. Aloud, she said, "Oh, that's really too much to ask from you guys…"

"Well, _do _you have somewhere else to go?" asked Jace.

"I was going to…" Clary trailed off and pondered briefly what staying with Simon and Eric would actually be like: presumably a spot on their old beanbag chair, listening to Eric complaining or snoring while Simon played video games. She switched gears, somewhat embarrassed nonetheless. "Well, not exactly, no."

"You can stay with us for a few nights," Alec offered kindly. "It's fine, really. You're kind of under extenuating circumstances."

Clary exhaled, before smiling gratefully. She was incredibly touched by their kindness in her time of need, especially since the Lightwoods hadn't been terribly friendly the night before. "You guys are all too generous. I can't thank you enough."

Jace returned her grin, unable to contain his obvious excitement. It was a wonder that he still wanted to spend time with her after everything that happened. "So, you _are_ staying, then?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." It was also a wonder that Clary wanted to spend more time with _him_ after everything that had happened.

"Excellent. Let me just grab your suitcase, and then I'll show you to your room," he said delightedly, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling as he strode to the door to do just that, while Alec and Isabelle exchanged fond eye-rolls behind him. Clary didn't know what she had done to deserve to know an all-around great guy like Jace, but she definitely wasn't complaining. There was just something about him that made her feel secure and comforted, which was especially welcome in the midst of all of the day's chaos.

That night, burrowed beneath incredibly soft blankets and her head cradled by a plush pillow in one of the Lightwoods' many guest bedrooms, Clary slept more peacefully than she could have ever imagined.


	5. Chapter 5: Bed and Breakfast

_Edited as of 1/16/16._

* * *

A/N: Sorry for my long absence! I wanted to make this chapter as good as possible to make it up to all of you for waiting, so I hope you enjoy it!

It parallels more of Chapter 5, Clave and Covenant, from _City of Bones_.

I also got a review wondering why Jace's eyes aren't gold. I invite anyone asking themselves that question to look back at my Author's Note on Chapter 1. ;) (Basically, I just pictured him with blue eyes if he was in the mundane world.)

Enjoy~

* * *

5  
BED AND BREAKFAST

As she slept, only one dream occupied Clary's mind…

_She found herself outside on a hot, sunny day. Raising her hand to her eyes to block out the sun, she realized that she was watching Jace play tennis again. But, unlike when he had easily defeated the boy in the ski cap, Jace was actually putting in some effort. Clary looked at the other side of the court at his opponent and realized that it was none other than her mother._

_Jocelyn seemed to be quite the experienced tennis player, wearing a short white dress and giving Jace a run for his money, despite her age. Clary watched as the ball rocketed back and forth in an endless volley, until, mid-swing, her mother simply vanished. Jocelyn's racket fell onto the court with a loud clatter while the ball bounced erratically away. Where had Jocelyn gone?_

_Jace, meanwhile, was grinning victoriously as he jogged over to where Clary was standing. She caught a flash of his white teeth, as bright as the sun, and then he had pulled her against him into a passionate kiss—_

Hazily, she became aware of a resonant knocking sound. "Clary…" Was that Jace's voice? "Clary, are you awake?"

"Huh?" she mumbled, rolling over in an impossibly soft bed. Where was she…?

"I hate to wake you up like this, but it's already eleven. Can I come in?" Eleven o'clock? She had been sleeping for a long time…

Clary's eyes fluttered open to reveal a bright white room, all billowy curtains and plush armchairs holding decorative pillows. She realized that she was currently in a large, fluffy bed and had a brief moment of panic, before remembering that she was staying with the Lightwood family in one of their guest rooms. And Jace was knocking at the door…

_Jace_… Clary thought, cheeks darkening. Of course _he_ would be the one to wake her up from a dream like that. "C-come in," she said, yawning and trying to dispel her embarrassment.

The door opened to reveal Jace, looking extremely handsome and refreshing against the white backdrop of the room. "Good morning, Clary. How are you doing?"

"I'm, um, alright, I guess." Clary yawned again and stretched her limbs, too sleepy for modesty. Jace had been looking at her, but she saw him smile vaguely and glance at the ceiling.

"Well, great," he said good-naturedly, his sky blue eyes flickering back to her. "As I said, I apologize for waking you up, but it's getting pretty late. We were all starting to worry about you."

Clary returned his easy smile, absentmindedly adjusting her tank top. "You must all be morning people."

"You could say that. Here." He suddenly held out his arms, and Clary realized that he was carrying a stack of neatly-folded white towels. _Is everything white in this house?_ she thought with a touch of amusement. "I brought some towels for you, in case you want to take a shower. The guest bathroom is right there," he indicated, pointing at a half-open door on the right wall. "It should be stocked with the necessary toiletries."

"Thanks." With another stretch, Clary lifted herself into a sitting position.

"And I'll give these to you," Jace said, handing her the towels. She watched his eyes glance down at her bare legs, exposed by her pajama shorts, and felt herself blush. She wasn't wearing much, and now he had assumedly seen all the freckles on her legs, which Clary usually tried to hide… "So, what do you want for breakfast?" he asked brightly, seemingly unperturbed.

"Breakfast?"

"Well, I assume you're going to be hungry soon. We could make pancakes, waffles, eggs, crepes… Whatever you want, really. I know that Isabelle is probably dying to cook." He rolled his eyes affectionately.

"Um… Pancakes would be great."

"Excellent. Do you remember how to get to the kitchen?"

Clary tried to remember the layout of the Lightwoods' house, and realized that she had been too tired the night before to commit it to memory. "I bet I could figure it out eventually."

"Alright. I'll send Izzy to find you if you get lost," Jace said with his now-familiar dimpled smile. "But feel free to take your time getting ready. Do you have everything you need?"

"I think so." Clary glanced at the floor beside the bed, where she had exhaustedly placed her suitcase the night before. Unsurprisingly, it was still unzipped and spewing clothes everywhere, completely at odds with the rest of the pristine room. Then she looked back at Jace, who was casually standing by the bed and regarding her with those stunning eyes. She was once again overwhelmed with gratitude towards him and his family, especially since they were practically strangers. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he said genuinely. "Now, if you excuse me, I have some pancakes to make."

Clary laughed softly. "See you soon."

With one last grin and a fleeting wave, Jace exited the room and carefully closed the door behind him.

For a few seconds after he left, Clary just sat on the bed and hugged herself, unable to contain a blissful smile. Despite everything that had happened the day before, she found that something about Jace excited her immensely. He was so thoughtful, so talented, so good-looking… The perfect guy, really. The astounding part was his apparent interest in _her_.

Clary glanced down at her pale legs, wondering what they would have looked like to Jace. Did he notice her freckled knees? She supposed that, overall, her legs weren't bad, as legs went. They weren't terribly long, but her habit of jogging a couple times a week had given them some muscle definition. And she supposed that she had nice ankles.

_Ugh, what am I doing?_ Clary thought exasperatedly. Determined not to scrutinize her appearance any further, she grabbed the stack of white towels and marched into the bathroom.

* * *

The guest bathroom, much like the bedroom attached to it, looked like it had come from a hotel or the pages of an interior decorating magazine. But, instead of flowing fabric, the bathroom was full of hard surfaces—tiles, porcelain, glass, polished wood—all of it a pure, snowy white. _Of course._ The complete lack of color was almost alarming. Couldn't they have included a potted plant or something, just to break up the monochromaticity?

Shaking her head, Clary slid back a frosted glass panel to reveal the bathtub. Jace hadn't been lying when he said it was stocked with the necessary toiletries. Her eyebrows raised slowly as she took in the little shelves molded into the corners, which held countless expensive-looking products. Experimentally, Clary picked up one French-labeled bottle of '_shampooing'_. It smelled pleasantly of mint and lavender, and she instantly liked it more than her own generic shampoo at home…

She stopped herself from thinking about that, instead diverting her attention to testing out the fancy shower. The water pressure turned out to be unsurprisingly excellent, working at her tense shoulders and back like an experienced masseuse, and the calming scents of the assorted soaps offered a kind of aromatherapy. Clary really let herself relax under the stream of water, until her weary body felt pliant and utterly clean. Then she stepped out, wrapping one fluffy towel around her and another around her bright red hair. When Clary caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink, green eyes standing out like gemstones in her pale face and against the stark white backdrop, she attempted an encouraging smile and felt mildly better.

After that, she padded back into the bedroom and started agonizing over what to wear. Jace was a reasonably stylish dresser, from what she'd seen, and they would assumedly be spending time together, so she decided that she wanted to look nice. Unfortunately, her bland wardrobe of T-shirts, flannels, sweaters, and old jeans didn't easily lend itself to that, but maybe with a little creativity…

Inspired by the simplicity of her room, she eventually settled on a white T-shirt and faded jeans with an olive green scarf and brown oxfords, determining that the outfit made her look equally casual and put-together. For a final touch, she wound her damp curls into a loose braid. Clary felt an unusual swell of pride in her appearance as she gave herself a once-over in the mirror, glad that she took the time to actually pick out an outfit instead of throwing on the first things she saw.

Feeling pleased and confident, Clary strode out into the hallway and set off to find the kitchen.

* * *

Navigating the Lightwoods' house turned out to be more difficult than she had anticipated. The lengthy network of elegant hallways and staircase landings would make it seem like easy work, but the layout nonetheless confused Clary. She had assumed that her guest room was on the second floor, but going down one flight of stairs only led her to another aisle of closed doors. Perplexed, she started walking back in the direction she came from. Had she somehow missed another staircase that went further downstairs?

She passed the spiral stairway that she had descended, not seeing anything that would lead down another flight. So, instead of turning around again and walking in circles, Clary decided to walk down the hallway on the other side. Eventually, it opened up to a large, open space, with a balcony overlooking an elegant foyer. _Thank God,_ she thought, seeing the curved marble staircase ahead of her. She spent a moment admiring the room's magnificent chandelier and then descended the stairs.

"Now what?" Clary said under her breath. She deduced that she was at the front of the house, given the room's enormous double doors. But where was the kitchen…?

One archway in the foyer led to a tasteful living room. Refusing to be disheartened, Clary went back and walked through another archway into a dining room. It was then that Clary heard indistinct voices, having what sounded like a lighthearted argument. As she drew forward, they became clearer…

"We are _not _putting bananas in the pancakes. That's disgusting," said a muffled female voice.

"It is not disgusting! Bananas are healthy." _Jace_, Clary recognized with a start. Even though she had only known him for a few days, his naturally alluring voice was unmistakable.

"Pancakes aren't supposed to be healthy. Why else would we drown them in syrup?"

"Speak for yourself. _I_ actually care about nutrition. Besides, bananas pair excellently with pancakes."

"If anything, you should put in something good, like chocolate chips."

"And you call yourself an athlete," Jace scoffed nonchalantly. "My vote is still for banana slices. Do we even _have_ chocolate chips?"

By that point, Clary had reached the entryway to the kitchen. Inside the glossy room, she found Jace leaning against the counter island, while Isabelle stood opposite him with her arms crossed.

Clary felt a brief twinge of guilt for interrupting their conversation, but decided to speak up. "Good morning," she said, striding further into the kitchen with as much confidence as she could muster.

"Clary!" Jace said, bestowing upon her a brilliant smile that made her feel strangely breathless. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary could see Isabelle's brief smirk as her dark eyes took him in with obvious amusement. "I see that you made it here in one piece."

"Barely," Clary said with an extremely embarrassing giggle. Abruptly conscious of Jace and Isabelle staring at her, she cleared her throat. "But I'm here now, so I guess that's what matters."

"Right," agreed Jace. "So, do you like banana pancakes?"

"Or chocolate chip?" interjected Isabelle, giving Jace a playfully stern look. Clary realized with a start that she was remarkably pretty, her sleek black hair framing an angular, surprisingly delicate-looking face. Even her outfit—a white and blue button-down shirt tucked into a pair of denim shorts—seemed both effortless and perfectly suited to her. She was exactly the kind of girl Clary would have envied in middle school and maybe even high school. But now that she was older and less prone to meaningless jealousy, she made a mental note to ask Isabelle for fashion tips.

"Either or, really. I usually make myself blueberry pancakes, but anything you guys want is fine," Clary said tactfully, thinking about the quarrel she'd overheard. "Or we could just have them plain."

Isabelle made an expression of disgust. "Absolutely not. No plain pancakes allowed in this house." Then, quick as a whip, her lips curved into a fluid grin. "But the blueberries are a stroke of genius. We can totally do those."

"They're full of antioxidants, too," added Jace, digging in the white refrigerator for a moment and unearthing a box of vibrant blueberries. "I usually blend them into my protein shakes." He smiled and winked at Clary briefly, and then started to stir some berries into a bowl of pancake batter.

_Protein shakes?_ pondered Clary, nonetheless pleased that he had winked at her.

"Feel free to ignore Jace's pointless obsession with nutrition," Isabelle said as if guessing the pattern of Clary's thoughts, leaning in towards her conspiratorially. "He takes our sport way too seriously."

One of Jace's eyebrows quirked up, which made Clary faintly jealous. She'd always wished she could do that. "I heard that. And I am not obsessed. I just think that it's my duty as an athlete to keep my body in the best shape possible."

At the moment he mentioned his body, tantalizing images of an unclothed Jace entered Clary's mind. If he was that gorgeous with clothes _on_, and actively strived to be as healthy as possible… Clary could feel her cheeks growing warm, and she felt a stab of guilt about her constant fantasizing. It was bad enough that she had dreamed about him…

She snapped out of her thoughts before they could get too out of hand, just in time to see Isabelle mouthing the word "obsessed" to her. Clary attempted to return her easy smile, beginning to sense that the word could apply to her own fixation on Jace.

The sound and smell of sizzling pancake batter distracted Clary again, drawing her eyes back to the subject of her newfound obsession. He was in profile, but she could still tell from his furrowed brow and the wrinkling of his nose that he was intently concentrating. A curly wisp of blond hair was falling in his downturned face as he prodded the pancakes with a spatula, which made him look extremely cute. Clary's eyes drank in every detail of his profile: his full lips, the strong angle of his jaw, the subtle protrusion of his Adam's apple, his sharp cheekbones. She wished regretfully that she had brought her sketchbook and a pencil downstairs so that she could have drawn him again. Jace had the unique power to make something even as ordinary as cooking breakfast beautiful.

Suddenly, his expression soured. "Damn it. I think I burned a couple of these."

Isabelle jumped up from her perch on a yellow and black stool, striding over to the stove and elbowing Jace out of the way. "Let me handle this. You usually undercook them, anyway. They're probably fine."

"Like _you're_ going to do any better."

"I am," Isabelle claimed, seizing the spatula from Jace's hand. "You won't be needing this anymore. Now shoo. Entertain your lady love."

Clary's mouth fell open. Had Isabelle seriously referred to her as Jace's 'lady love'? Was her interest in him that obvious? _How embarrassing_, she thought, her heart beginning to race.

Jace, for his part, merely raised his eyebrows and walked over to where Clary was standing, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He was so composed… Why wasn't he reacting more? Had he already realized that she had a thing for him, and was just humoring her? "So, Clary," he said, "what do you like to put on your pancakes?"

Before she could answer, Isabelle did so for her. "Obviously, she's going to eat them with maple syrup like a normal person, unlike Mr. I-Eat-My-Pancakes-Dry-Because-I'm-So-Neurotic-About-Calories."

"I resent that statement," said Jace pointedly.

"What? Clary seems significantly more normal than you, and normal people typically enjoy their pancakes with maple syrup."

Clary found her voice. "Um, I actually don't like maple syrup. Do you have any honey?"

"Honey?" mused Isabelle. "I think Alec keeps some in his tea cabinet. But I would have never considered putting it on pancakes. You know, Clary, you may be onto something."

Clary smiled timidly. "I know it's kind of weird."

Isabelle waved a flippant hand, saying, "Hey, I'll try anything at least once. Jace, get the honey! Come on, were you raised in a barn? Be a good host!"

Jace snorted and rolled his eyes, retrieving a bottle of honey from one of the many white cabinets. "Alright, fine. But I'm blaming you if Alec finds out we took some." Then he looked at Clary and grinned, and she immediately felt more comfortable and relaxed—enough so that she returned his smile without her usual tentativeness.

Isabelle lowered a plate of pancakes onto the counter in front of Clary and gestured for her to sit down on one of the stools. "Well, eat up. I didn't slave over a hot stove for nothing."

"Yeah," said Jace as Clary drizzled honey over her pancakes. "You'll need all the energy you can get for the grand tour of the Lightwood Estate, courtesy of yours truly."

Alone time with Jace? Clary smiled at the prospect, staring deeply into Jace's lovely blue eyes. "I'm looking forward to it. Everything I've seen so far is beautiful."

"If you think this is beautiful, just wait until you see the gardens," he said, sitting in the stool next to hers and digging in to his own plate of blueberry pancakes. Their close proximity coupled with Jace's warm, genuine smile made Clary feel light-headed and excited at the same time, and she found that she couldn't finish her pancakes fast enough.

* * *

Breakfast turned out to be delicious, with both Jace and Isabelle agreeing that the blueberry pancakes with honey were an excellent choice. Clary, for her part, felt considerably at ease with the pair, listening to their natural banter and laughing along with their jokes. And she didn't have a chance to feel excluded, since they both seemed invested in asking her questions and listening to her responses.

Even talking with Isabelle was more fun than Clary could have imagined. She had never had many female friends to speak of, so it was nice to hear Isabelle's unique take on things. Often times, with Simon and his friends, Clary felt like she had to tone down her girliness to be accepted, but it wasn't the case with these two. Clary could feel herself coming out of her shell, which was equally exciting and terrifying.

Isabelle left the kitchen as soon as she was done eating, telling Jace that she was going to be in the gym if anyone was in desperate need of her assistance. Clary found herself becoming nervous again, now that she was alone with Jace, but she shoved those feelings to the back of her mind. Taking the initiative, she said to Jace, "So, what about that tour you promised me?"

Jace smiled blindingly again. "Very well. We can begin the tour any time you want, Miss Fray. I was thinking that we should start outside and work our way in."

"I thought you said that the garden was the best part. Why would you skip to the grand finale?"

"I have my reasons," he said, his eyes twinkling with an emotion that Clary couldn't quite place. "Besides, it's a beautiful day outside, and I could use some more fresh air."

"More?" Clary asked, unable to hedge her natural curiosity.

"Alec and I went for our daily run this morning."

She was impressed at his dedication, thinking of her own occasional jogs. "What time did you go?"

"5:30," Jace said unabashedly. "We usually go at 6, but we both happened to be up extra early this morning." Clary must have made a face, because he laughed unexpectedly. "What? There's nothing wrong with waking up at 5:30."

"If you say so," Clary said, grinning. "But to _exercise_ that early? I think that's a little unnatural."

As they talked, Jace led her outside to the rear of the house, taking care to hold open the door for her. "How else could I watch the sunrise?"

"I've never watched a sunrise before." It was a pastime that Clary had always viewed as too obviously romantic and unrealistic, something that only happened in novels or rom coms. Who in their right mind would wake up that early, after all? But now, she pictured Jace out for a run in the morning with the sun just beginning to shine, illuminating him and the world with hazy golden light. For the first time in her life, she had the urge to watch a sunrise, as long as Jace was with her. "I typically jog in the afternoon, myself."

"You run?" Jace asked, sounding dually surprised and delighted.

"Only a couple times a week. Nothing major." Clary looked straight ahead, then, and saw an enormous, manicured expanse of hedges and rose bushes offset with stone pathways. "Wow," she exhaled, unable to say anything else that could express how she was feeling.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, the two of them approaching a small white gazebo surrounded by flowers. Clary was so struck by the beauty of it all—the roses, the robin's egg colored sky dotted with fluffy clouds, the gorgeous young man at her side—that she was at a complete loss for words. "It's one of my favorite places to be. I thought you'd appreciate it, since you're an artist."

"It's amazing," Clary said, lowering herself onto a bench in the gazebo and gazing at the incredible scenery before her. "I've never seen a more beautiful view."

Jace sat next to her, his expression intent and oddly pensive. There was something else, too, the same strange emotion that Clary couldn't put her finger on earlier. She began to suspect what it was, and felt her heartbeat flutter. "You know, Clary," he said, staring into her eyes with a thrilling intensity. "We never did get to finish our coffee yesterday, so I was wondering… Would you possibly be interested in trying it again sometime?"

Clary felt as if she was floating, but struggled to keep herself in check. This wasn't a time for miscommunication. She needed to get Jace to be more specific. "How so? As friends, or—"

"As a date," he said, and Clary felt her eyes widen. Was someone really asking her out? More than that, _Jace_ was asking her out? It was impossible, but unimaginably exhilarating at the same time. And he had been the one to say the words, too… Jace wanted to go out with her! Dazedly, Clary observed that a touch of nervousness had come over his expression. "Unless you don't want to, of course. We could also just go as friends. It's just that we've been spending a lot of time together lately, and I—"

Euphoric words began tumbling out of Clary's mouth. "Of course I'll go out with you, Jace. I've been so nervous these past couple days with my mom and everything, but you're the best silver lining to the situation that I could have ever hoped for. I would _love_ to get coffee with you sometime."

"Really?" he asked, his smile brighter and more divinely beautiful than ever before.

Clary felt slightly dizzy from the flood of emotions, but not in a bad way. "Yes."

Jace reached out and took Clary's hand experimentally, their eyes shyly meeting as if for the first time. A slight breeze blew through the gazebo, rustling their hair and all of the surrounding flowers, but they were too absorbed in each other to notice. "It's a date, then."


End file.
